


Demigod Diaries: Running Errands for Athena

by xxCopyCatxx



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxCopyCatxx/pseuds/xxCopyCatxx
Summary: Not all demigods are famous, super powerful and/or save the world.But that doesn't mean life is boring. It's the same for everybody, mortals and demigods - even the ones you've never heard of.Meet Amra, daughter of Enyo, who is tired of godly nepotism and decided to live her own life, far away from Camp Half-Blood. Follow her on her very own adventure!





	Demigod Diaries: Running Errands for Athena

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've completely moved over to the Archive now I thought I might as well migrate another one of my old works, one I've always loved for the easiness I feel I can after a long hiatus of not writing no longer reach. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

This isn’t  _my_  city. It’s not my home I feel forced to protect. It’s not my parents’ heritage I want to keep alive. I don’t do it because it’s the right thing to do. It’s not my responsibility. I’m not trying to save anyone. My people don’t need me.

I just love the thrill.

I’m addicted to jumping, almost flying, across the roofs. Feeling the adrenaline rushing through me makes me feel alive. And there is nothing better than letting your fist slam into the face of a burglar and seeing one of his canines fly away.

That’s what I do at night, chasing freedom and having fun. At day, I’m just a normal kid – attending a school for teenage criminals or those with the immediate potential to become ones.

The guys I hang out with jokingly call me “Xena”. Not because I’m lesbian, mind you. I just love plucking some feathers.

And considering my heritage, Xena’s godly powers are actually not a completely wild guess.

My dad is just some normal dude, a little overcharged with my education, I think. He is from Sri Lanka – but I’ve never been there in my live. Some trouble with his family: That’s a little ironic, since my maternal side of the family is  _always_  trouble.

I was seven when I learned about my mom, Enyo.

Believe it or not, she is a living, breathing (though I’m not so sure whether they  _actually_  breath) Greek goddess.

When I was eight, my father sent me to this camp, where they dealt with people like me: Kids, who followed their impulses and who had the urge to beat something up once in a while, just like me. Demigods like me.

I didn’t stay long at this Camp Half-Blood though, and I only check by on occasion. People there were seriously boring: Responsibility to kill monsters and protect mortals, running errands for the gods… Worst thing was, even at this dumping lot for social outcasts I still didn’t belong.

They are all about kids of the great twelve Olympians and only recently built cabins for the minor gods – turned out my mom was so minor, even the other demigods have never heard of her (except maybe for those know-it-all jerks in Athena cabin that always had to give their opinion).  
  
So, of course, I grabbed my stuff and got out of there. The only perk to being the daughter of a really minor god is apparently the smell. Yeah, demigods smell – not like “hasn’t showered in a week” or “stepped into dog poop yesterday” – and monsters really are hooked on it, so it probably is more like a “dinner to go here, just come and get it” aroma to them.

Apparently, the more powerful a demigod is, the stronger is this smell. Like, the kids of Zeus can fly and shoot lightning out of the sky, Poseidon’s prats got these watertribe bending skills – heck, even Demeter children can command plants with their mind – but they all get hunted down by monsters as soon as they step over Camp borders.

Me? I just inherited my mom’s bad attitude, the constant desire to mess people’s faces up and some good fighting skills.

The latter is the only thing actually cool – I get most fighting styles down good enough to completely kick someone’s ass on the street within a year or two.

After all, I’m a big girl and can look out for myself – especially with the pair of katars from camp that seemed to have found its way into one of my pockets before I left. All on their own, of course. I use them only for supernatural idiots though, that lack the intelligence to avoid my turf. Mortals just get a brass knuckle shoved up their asses.

And that’s how I became who I’m now: The kickass, self-appointed after-school  _Blackbird_. Not the most original name for an alias, I know. But I came up with it in one of my Batman phases, I really thought the bird theme worked for me, too.

And it stuck, has a good ring to it – even fits my costume. Well, if you can call it that.

I actually look kinda ninja: Black combat boots, dark jeans and a black shirt with bat wing sleeves. If I spread my arms, it resembles a pair of wings. Plus, it perfectly hides the leather armor I wear underneath  _and_  masks my boyish features. To complete my look I wear a red mask I made myself and a long hair wig.

Superhero 101: Never reveal your true identity. And with my dark skin, there are not that many people out there as possible suspects. I use the wig to cover my black pixie hair – and the red strands in it.

Easy – cover distinctive features and create something memorable to focus on.

Here in Lancaster, we might have enough crime to be busy every night, but as I said, I do it more for myself, not out of duty.

Even my dad doesn’t know, who I really am: Neither the demigod nor the vigilante part. And I don’t know which would shock him more.

Conveniently, he works night shifts at that security company, nothing big.

“Just gonna finish my math homework and then I’ll hit the bed,” I lie, as he exits the house.

“Don’t stay up late,” he reminds me, and I even manage to keep a straight face.

“I will,” I promise nevertheless. “Good night.”

“Sleep well,  _Piriyamāṉa_. Love you."

“Implied.” I shoo him out of the door.

  
  
It’s only six pm, so it’s not yet dark enough for my nightly patrol. That leaves me with enough time on my hands to actually do my homework for once. I don’t see the point in torturing myself unnecessarily, and the teachers don’t really care either. It’s hard enough for me to sit down and concentrate on one single thing, but if it involves reading – forget it. I’ve been told that’s a demigod thing, but I couldn’t care less. It’s just part of who I am: Troubled kid at day, vigilante by night.

Anyway, I try to focus on math, my exam is due next week, but I could as well read the telephone directory.   
In the end, I just sigh and scribble down a few random numbers.

It’s amazing how much time one can waste by staring at the same book page. I think my personal record is an hour, but I dozed off in between.

And then, finally, the sun sets.

Its last rays touch the lower rooftops and let the few skyscrapers stand tall and black against the golden background.

I open my window and let the cool evening air in, deeply inhaling the mixture of smog, coming rain and something else.

It’s one of  _those_  days again.

Sometimes, I can  _feel_  that something special will happen, something demigod-related. It just means, I try the katars first and then the knuckles. If my opponent is against all chances completely mortal, the bronze blades will slide right through them anyway, like an illusion.

Freaks the hell out of the target, but it’s not like they are innocent and deserve pity.

I change into my outfit. I keep it under my bed, squashed between mattress and wooden frame. As final touch I exchange my (red-) trimmed glasses for a pair of contacts in the same color. Starting to see a pattern there, aren’t you?

Then I escape into the night: It’s almost insultingly easy to disappear out of my room. I only need to get out of my window, onto the fire escape ladder. I could simply climb down, like a normal burglar, but that’s too boring; Instead, I balance my weight on the security rail, pause a second and then dive down.   
Our neighbor’s roof has the perfect height, and as I land on it I stop the momentum from breaking my legs by rolling off.

I jump and run over the rooftops, arms spread out like wings and simply enjoy the freedom. I have no aim in particular and just let fate decide where it leads me tonight.

And as always, it just leads me where I want and need to be.

A barely suppressed female voice screams in one of the alleys below me – and it doesn’t sound as if she’s enjoying whatever happens to her.  
  
I balance over a nearby fence, get down and cross the street. On the other side, I climb back up, using greenery and window hilts to grab on.  

I follow the voice, and finally look down, almost in disappointment: Her attacker is a normal, boring mortal. Her shocked, frightened face and his hand between her legs and on her chest make the situation pretty clear; He sounds drunk, and I don’t even bother to draw my weapons.  
Instead, I dash, gather momentum and jump at him from above. I steady my jump with wide arms and easily kick him in the chest, landing on him.

That takes the air out of his lungs for a moment, but he is not as stupid as he looked.

He tucks his legs in and using the force, gets back on his feet.

I grin – at least this will get a bit interesting.

Waiting for him to make the first move, I scan my opponent. He is muscular, but his focus is a bit off. His weight is mostly on his left foot – I move a step away from him and he responds by closing the gap again, barely visibly dragging his right leg. He probably doesn’t even notice his handicap, but it marginally slows him down on his right, dominant side.

“I’m waiting…,” I tease him. With a roar of anger, he swings his fist - but I easily dodge. He is too slow to hit me, his movements tell me he never fought someone so much smaller than him before. I jump up against the wall behind me, grab one of his swung arms for a moment to slow it down.

Then I ram one of my knuckles into his ulnar nerve at his crazy bone.

He jumps in pain and surprise, and I bring him down with a precise, merciless kick in the crotch. As soon as he is down on the ground I hit him at the temples – hard enough to render him unconscious, gentle enough to not break any bones and do permanent damage.

Then I turn to the woman: She is a bit younger than thirty, pale and her shoulder-length brown hair hangs in messy strands. She stares at me with wide eyes, unable to move.

I keep my distance, so I don’t additionally scare her.

“Do you have a cell phone?” I ask, forcing my voice to be soft and calming.

With trembling fingers, she pulls a phone out of her pocket that lays on the ground next to her.

“Call the police.”

She nods and slowly starts dialing 911. She waits a moment and then stuttering reports what happened and where she is right now.   
I start climbing up on the roofs, but promise over my shoulder: “I’ll stay around and keep an eye on you, and  _him_ , until they arrive.”

  
  
It’s a good thing I don’t kick the crap out of other people for gratitude – because I don’t get it. I never do.

Yet, I wait for the flickering lights of the police car and the officer’s rustling walkie-talkies before I continue my stroll.

Even though that guy has only been small fry, I feel the adrenaline surging through me. And I like it.

But the night is still young and there has to be more fun waiting in this damn city.  
Turns out there actually is.  
  
After a few more, barely challenging incidents I’m about to call it a night. Not because I need my sleep – it has become a habit to take naps during class. Yet, my desire for adventure is fading and I decide to head home.

I scale one of the higher buildings around me to regain my orientation and then take the shortest route back. Even though I have been raised in Lancaster since I can remember, I have a horrible sense of directions.

I fly above the gaps between the roofs and only stop when I hear a strange familiar noise: It’s the clashing of metal; a high, distinctive ring in the air. Curiously, I decide on a final detour before returning home.

And it turns out to be worth the trouble:

In a small patch of greenery, a girl my age and someone much bigger are fighting. I stalk nearer and notice the girl is wielding a bronze-gleaming dagger. A fellow demigod.

I usually keep my distance to other halfbloods, but she seems to be fighting for her life – and I might be selfish, but not heartless.

When I’m close enough, I notice her opponent only has one eye – a Cyclops.

I equip my two katars and approach him from behind, ninja-style. Whoever that girl is, she stays faithful to her dagger and doesn’t use any godly powers. Yet her scent is strong enough to mask mine, so I assume she might be a daughter of Athena or Ares. Probably Athena, because something about her and her extremely elegant fighting style rubs me the wrong way.

I am waiting for the right moment to attack, without hindering her – but suddenly she vanishes, without a warning, into thin air.

Just as confused as I am, the Cyclops turns around, looking for his opponent: But only finds yours truly. Brilliant, that’s what I get for trying to help.

I’m not really into the whole demigod policy, to kill a monster simply because they decided someone fit that term.

“Calm down,” I warn, “or I have to attack you.”

Cyclopes are the descendants of Poseidon, not simply generally malign creatures like the furies. Plus, they don’t return after being dissolved into golden dust; Cyclopes have a personality that dies with them – just like humans.

In his rage, he doesn’t seem to hear me, though.

I step aside, as he tries to grab me and give it another try: “Stop, I don’t want to kill you.”

Then I sigh in frustration. There’s no point in getting myself squashed like this.

I grab my weapons more firmly and decide to go for his heels to bring him down.

Carefully, to not be trampled I dive to the ground, roll off and get behind him in a single movement. Thanks he gods for his poor depth perception.

I slash the tendon in his left ankle and jump out of the way. He struggles, but stays upright. I aim with my weapon at his face and he instinctively steps back – falling to the ground.

“How does calming down sound  _now_?” I offer him the chance to surrender. I can almost see his thoughts in his one eye and he slowly raises his hands in defense.  – Before dissolving, just like the girl before.

I don’t like mysteries.

I don’t like people who act like they are smarter than me.

And the thing I like least is being tested.

My gut tells whatever happened just now,  _was_  a test. And I really hope I failed – tests like this usually determine whether a poor young demigod is worthy to die on some gruesome quest to fight out a random god’s feuds.

Warily, I eye my surrounding, looking for signs of godly presence. I suppress a curse when I notice the golden-haired – yes, golden, not simply blonde – woman, watching me from a distance.

  
Have I mention I hate nothing more than stupid tests?  
Well, I stand corrected: I actually do hate quests for my least favorite goddess more.

  
Maybe it’s because my mother was closer related to Ares, maybe it’s my own preferred, rogue and dishonorable fighting style – I can’t bear Athena in all her righteousness.   
But, there she is, her golden hair tied up and wearing a white  _chiton_ , as if she has just jumped down from Olympus for a short stroll. She probably has.

Without bothering to emulate walking, she comes closer.

“Amra Ethiraj,” she greets me in her godly condescension.

“My lady,” I answer, through gritted teeth. I wait a second, to at least  _appear_  courteous.

“You see that mask on my face?” I then add, pointing the object on my nose, “I wear it to hide who I am.”

She, the great goddess of logic and intelligence gives me a bewildered look, as if she can’t quite understand that concept. Like everything else about her, it makes me feel stupid. And angry. Just because I’m not an obtuse intellectual like her, doesn’t mean I can’t formulate a plan or do the things that have to be done.

“I have a quest for you,” she announces and I fight the urge to just hit her straight in the face – despite the fact I’ll probably get to sit a few eternities in Hades, pushing stones or graving food for  _hubris_  like that.

I breathe deeply to calm myself down. “Why me?”

“Several reasons.”

I tap my foot, waiting for an answer.

“Your refreshing honesty.”

I snort. “You could trust any Ares kid for that reason.”

She shrugs.

“Your ability to work alone. Your tendency to dismiss orders and adapt to the situation at hand.”

Athena, the frigging goddess of war and strategy and military order chose me because I’m good at disobeying orders? I can die happily now – OK, strike that, I’d rather stay alive for some while longer.

“Sounds fishy to me.”

“Your skill to comprehend situations.” This time, I hear sarcasm in her perfect, godly voice.

“Just spill it,” I decide to end the ridiculous charade. “What do you want me to do?”

She hesitates for a moment before answering: “My Palladion has been stolen.”

“Your what?” Maybe it’s because she’s used to boss her own, all-knowing children around, but she needs to be a bit more specific for me. Because that’s all Greek to me –  _get it? Greek?_

“Palladion” she repeats, annoyance dripping from her voice. “A cult image, a wooden statue of me that was preserved in the citadel of Troy as a pledge of the safety of the city. As long as the statue was kept safe within Troy, the city could not be conquered. Later, it was kept on the Akropolis in Athens and even the foolish Romans acknowledged my power for once and save-guarded it in one of Hestia’s temples.”

Her voice is blank, as if reciting an encyclopedia.  – And knowing her, she probably is.

“If it’s that important to you, why did you mislay it in the first place?”

“I did not  _mislay_  it,” she snaps indignant. “It was stolen from me.”

“By whom?”

Silence hangs in the air, and I realize, it’s already getting late – or early, depending on your definition.

“I don’t know,” she finally admits.

So that’s why she needs me. To finish her business, take out her trash and never tell anyone else. Brilliant. – But maybe it’s worth the trouble, if Athena High and Mighty asks me for a favor personally.

If she is that desperate, I can ask for an equally big service in return.

I have already decided, but I still pretend to be conflicted, just for the fun.

“But – I can’t just leave. I have responsibilities here.”

“They will be taken care of.”

I keep silent for a moment, as if actually thinking – not that I have much experience with that.

“And… my father?”

“You don’t have to worry about him.”

“I can’t really say no, can I?”  
“You could, but then I’d have to kill you.”  I bite back a laugh. It would be funny – if Athena wasn’t serious about it.

I ponder for a moment longer.

“Fine,” I finally agree. “Where do I start?” I don’t have to ask about the  _“When”_ , it’s obvious: Now.

“I will send you to the area I sensed it in last.”

“Care to be a teeny-tiny bit more precise?”

“Bartlesvile, Oklahoma.”

I’ve never heard of a city – or village - like that. But does she really expect me to run across half the country for her? She can choose someone else for her little reenactment of the trip into the West.

“So, you will send me – Do I get to fly first class?”

“I was thinking about something a bit quicker.”

Quicker than flying? I  _so_  hate godly transportation techniques.

“You will walk,” she explains, dead serious.

Not even mildly amused or bewildered, I follow her lead to a house next to the park. It’s an exceptionally dirty and abandoned one; it’s the sort of house I can always count on to have a few lowlifes in to beat up in boring nights.

But I don’t question Athena: The gods work in mysterious ways. And if she is by the smallest of chances wrong on this one, I have something to laugh about later.

She walks up to the mossy, decaying brick wall and examines the graffiti decorating it with a trademarked, concentrated Athena™ frown.

Too bad, she does actually find what she's looking for: With her fingertips, she presses an extra-ugly and cheap-looking triangle. It starts to glow in magical gold and the wall vanishes leaving only a small, dark passage into darkness.

“The labyrinth of Daedalus,” she explains, because I keep silent.

“I knew that,” I immediately assure. “But didn’t it, like, die or something?”

“It came back.”

She shrugs her shoulders and ponders for a moment. I just stand next to her and wait. If Athena does some thinking, who am I to interrupt her?  
All of a sudden, she snaps her fingers.

In the air next to her hand flutters a small, fluffy bird. It looks like one of the cute owls from that one DreamWorks movie - the one I only ever saw the posters from, and that was ages ago.

The owl flaps its wings in despair, before sinking down onto the goddess’s hand. Apparently, hummingbirds  _are_  the only birds that can do the helicopter trick.

“He will show you the way to the Palladion,” Athena explains.

I just nod and let the owl jump onto my shoulders.   
“Now-“ Miss Wisdom speaks again, but I cut her short. I have no need to drag this stupid mission out any longer than I have to.

“Follow owl. Find Palladion. Get it back. Be quick. Tell no one. – I get it.”

She agrees: “Exactly."  
  
Following the owl, I step into the pitch-black tunnel and Athena closes the door behind me – I’m all for a bit of excitement and adrenaline, but I also have limits! I feel like India Jones, in one of those  _deadly_  traps and only relax when my eyes finally adjust to the dim light.

“OK, where to now?” I ask the owl and feel exceptionally stupid. I may call myself after a bird, but that doesn’t mean I talk to them on a daily basis.

“Anaximander.”

Did the owl just…? Whatever.

“That’s what I am called,” the bird screaks and I guess he approves as much of this shared mission as I.

“Fine, lead the way, Annie.”

He gives me a deadly owl-stare, before flying ahead.

I follow him through a few corridors that look as if someone has tried to mash up as many epochs as possible and finally end up in a dead end. It takes a moment, before I notice the same symbol on the wall as on the entry.

“Now what, press the triangle?”

Anaximander clicks his beak: “It’s a  _delta_ , young one. And yes, do hurry up.”

I follow his order and press the delta, only to have another passage open up before me. I step out and realize it is still dark outside. I mentally smack my head: Of course it is, it was about three am back at home, and if Athena actually sent me to Oklahoma, it should be about half past two right now – or half past four. How do time zones work again?

Anaximander barely leaves me time to take in my environment. The door I just stepped through is now part of a formation of rocks, the delta barely visible under moss and next to other, random cracks. I don't know why the entrance to the labyrinth is next to a small lake in the middle of the woods, and I frankly don’t care. I don’t even want to know, whom the strange cabins belong, that look as if a group of Hippies decided to build them directly from the grass and flowers next to them.

I just want to get that damn statue as quickly as possible, so I keep away from the clearing with the houses. Last thing I need is some idiot who feels threatened by a stray, five feet two tall teenager and shots afore mentioned individual with a shotgun. My leather armor does OK against knives and swords, but high-velocity lead is my Kryptonite – like it is to any ordinary mortal.

Stalking past the camp, Anaximander leads me to what looks like the entrance to a small cave.

“The Palladion is nearby, I can sense it clearly,” he states, ruffling his feathers.   
“Seems easy enough,” I note, thinking of the until now almost too easy journey, “Why couldn’t Athena simply get it herself?”

“Do not question the gods.”

“In case you haven’t noticed: That’s what I always do. And Athena said that was the reason she sent me.”

“An unreasonable decision, indeed,” the owl comments after a moment of hesitation.

“Told yo-“

I stop midsentence, gesturing Anaximander to keep silent.

Then I hear the noise again. It’s the gurgling of a spring – and something else: Something is scraping over the rock floor, breathing and hissing periodically.

Carefully, I stay close to the walls, eyeing into the darkness in front of me. Whatever lures there, it sounds pretty dangerous and supernatural to me. The owl appears to share my thought; He cowers on my shoulder, staying suspiciously silent.

Following the sound of water mixed with danger, I end up in front of a giant natural hall. Its walls are covered in strange, fluorescing fungi, that give me the feeling the cave was taken straight out of that Avatar movie – the beautiful one about an alien planet; not the other one, the horrible movie that got nothing in common with the nickelodeon series.

In the middle of the cave is a lake, with an island in it. I ignore how much it looks like the place Voldemort stored his amulet-horcrux in – and instead focus on my own problem.

Although I can see the wooden statue now, my quest is hardly over. Coiled around it tightly, like a Boa, is a truly gigantic snake. It’s hard to estimate its true size, but even from the distance its head alone is as long as my thigh.

A split tongue I wriggling between sharp teeth and the drakon lifts its head.

“You go, err  _fly_ , and distract it,” I whisper and push the owl from my shoulder.

Anaximander protests loudly and effectively ruins any stealthy approach to our problem. I can feel the drakon’s eyes on me and step out of the shadows.

“What do you want?” His words are barely understandable, something between hissing and snorting.

I decide for the direct approach.

“I was sent to get the … Palladion.” I congratulate myself for remembering the name.

“For millennia I survived, and now, that I finally got a task again, you try to take it from me? Return to your masters and tell them I refused,  _girl_.”

“I don’t think Athena will accept that.”

“ _Athena_?” the drakon bellowed, laughing, ”I am keeping her symbol save. I will rather die than give it to a lowly, lying godling like you.”

I sigh – and pull out my katars.

The drakon takes a deep breath and I duck. A burst of steaming hot water hits the cave walls, where my head had been a moment ago. I jump over another spout, and try to stay optimistic: At least it’s not a fire dragon.

I dodge another torrent and turn a somersault over the one directly following. I have to get close enough to use my weapons!  
I let it chase me through the cave, forcing it to unwind from the statue.

Suddenly, I jump in the other direction. With my strongest jump, I fly towards the drakon. Only one meter between us now.

It bares its giant teeth, one longer than my finger each. I throw myself down into the cool pool; let another gust buzz over my head.

It’s a close call; its force pulls my vigilante-wig off.

The creature is confused – back in the good old days people probably didn’t suddenly lose their hair in a fight – and I use that confusion. I get back up, as fast as I can.

With a leap, I land behind its head, out of reach of more water. I lunge with my katar at it, but the bronze blade slides off of the scales. Great…

As cliché as it sounds, I have to go for the eyes. Staying behind the wiggling drakon is hard enough, but avoiding being bitten is even harder. I can see the poison dropping from its fangs and can almost imagine the painful bite.

“Annie!” I call out. “Remember what we talked about? Now would be a good time!” I don’t mention the word  _distraction_ , with the drakon listening, but hope the owl gets what I mean – If the stupid poultry has not bunked of already.

“Annie?” Still no reply.

“Anaximander?”

I keep my eyes on the snake, but feel a breeze of air rush over my head.

“Me, a distraction? I have never fought a monster before, young one,” the owl protests from above, where he is gliding in circles.

My opponent twists its head, searching for the speaker and I seize the opportunity.

I aim for the eyes, ready to bring the creature down.

My blades are only millimeters from its eyeballs, when it turns its head back, looking at me in surprise.

I freeze – those are no red or golden slits! Trust me, I have fought dragons before and none of them had round pupils with brown irides around them.

Those eyes…

I hesitate – and to hesitate in battle means to lose. A column of hot water hits me in the stomach, hurling me back to the entrance.

I gasp, barely able to breathe, let alone move.

“Has no one ever taught you to use a blade?” the owl rushes down to me, lecturing me angrily. “You have wasted the only opportunity you had, young one!”

I ignore him and his rant.

 _Those eyes_ …

“Eyes? Of course, eyes! You were supposed to claw them!” Anaximander demonstrates the gesture with his own claws.

Slowly, I shake my head.

“I won’t.”

The drakon opens its jaw again, and I expect another gust of water.

Instead, he speaks, very slowly: “Why did you stop?”

I answer with a question myself.

“You were human once, weren’t you?”

It sways its head, almost a nod.

“Monsters I kill – humans I won’t,” I declare. I don’t care if that sounds cheesy, I don’t care if the drakon will now kill me. It’s a simple truth.

For a while, maybe half a minute, I only hear the water dripping.

“Maybe you were speaking the truth,  _kore_ ,” the drakon contemplates.

“Me not killing you was a good argument?”

It laughs. ”Killing me? Hardly. I am cursed with immortality. No, it was your friend, the speaking owl who convinced me.”

Anaximander starts to pick his feathers with pride.

“Even in my days, most animals were mute. He was sent by the goddess and so were you.”

The drakon bows his head and slithers away from the five feet high statue. Now I can finally get a good look at it – and frankly, I’m disappointed. This oh so important statue is just a chunk of almost black, weathered wood. I know it should be a figure of Athena, but the thing it portraits is barely recognizable as human, lest female.

“If you return her token to her, tell her of Kadmos, her servant - But do leave the fight out.”

It’s amazing how much the drakon, apparently a  _he_ , changed his behavior. Maybe hesitating in my strike was the best thing I have done all night.

“Kadmos?” Anaximander echoes. “ _Hoo_ ,  _hoo_  – not  _the_  Kadmos of Thebes, surely?” The surprise lets the owl fall back into the language of his kind for a moment.

“I wish it was not I, but someone else,” Kadmos replies, his voice bitter.

I have no idea what they are talking about.

“Sorry to intrude,” I speak up, watching my language and speaking more cultivated than usual to not stick out too much, “but I have to get the statue back.”

“Give Lady Athena my regards.”

I never heard a sad drakon before, but apparently, he is my first.

“Why don’t you come with us and tell her yourself?” I offer. “This way, you can continue to guard the statue for her – or whatever else you want to do.”

He shakes his head. “I am unworthy. All these millennia, the gods have ignored my existence.”

Believe me, a sad drakon with tears in his eyes is probably the most touching thing you’ll ever see.

“Alright, you can stay here if you want – but how in hell am I supposed to get the statue back, then? I’m just a weak girl,” I pull at the Palladion that is only slightly shorter than I am, to prove my point, “and that owl isn’t really helping. So, what do you say? Can’t you come with us, if only to help me carry the statue?”

I can see Kadmos is thinking about my offer, and I add: “Why shouldn’t she be happy to see you? After all, you guarded her statue and even helped me on my quest.”

Slowly, he nods: “You have a point there,  _kore_. I will accompany you.”

“Then we should be going: The sun almost up and we don’t want to startle the mortals unnecessarily,” Anaximander decides.

I shrug: “They’ll probably just think the circus is in town.”

We walk past the cabins and step back into the labyrinth, when I remember something:

“Say, how did you get the Palladion in the first place?”

Kadmos frowns: “A son of Athena gave it to me.”

 


End file.
